Almost Lovers Always Do
by katielynn101
Summary: Tommy and Jude's star-crossed love seems to have finally hit a turning point. That is, until Tommy's past turns their young love into confusion and betrayal... Will the two almost lovers get another chance? Jommy. Rated T for eventual sexual situations.
1. prologue

Alright, guys, so I've decided to revamp the story just a smidge… okay maybe more than a tad… maybe more like a complete overhaul. But I LOVE what I've done so far, so I hope you will to. Please feel free to comment. Replies are always welcome! Also, just a reminder that this is a Jommy songfic to A Fine Frenzy's "Almost Lover."

xoxo,

Kaitlyn

**Chapter 1… more like a prologue of sorts….**

There was an element of creepiness to watching Tommy sleep, yes, but studying his little quirks was almost too interesting to turn down in favor of letting him be. I watched as his left nostril flared when he snored, how sometimes, when a snore was particularly gnarly, his brows would furrow and he would scrunch his eyelids together. And occasionally, instead of snoring, he'd breathe deep, usually taking up a good four seconds, and let it out in little puffs, with slight murmurs breaking the consistency of breath. I noticed things like the callous on the left side of his left thumb, where he held the neck of his guitar, the slight bump on the tip of his nose, breaking an otherwise smooth bridge, the minor razor burn right beneath his jaw line. He oozed of perfection as a whole, but breaking him down, it seemed like it was a multitude of quirky, charming imperfections that made him so different.

His raspy breath, felt on the little hairs dotting my neck, tugged me away from my dopey admiration like a child would pull at his mom's skirt, and brought me back into the reality of our physical contact. I was aware of his hand readjusting on my hipbone as he settled back in to huffy morning sleep and I had the distinct feeling one got when one knows a person so well, that this sleep rhythm would break soon, and he'd be up. It was the time in between this realization and the moment of his actual awakening that I became nervous of things beyond our control, or things, more specifically, beyond _my_ control. I imagined our trip back to Canada, back to my house, back into the façade we had fallen victim to. The arguments with my family, the possibilities of Tommy leaving once again, the disappointment of everyone if they ever found out what happened here in this no-name seaside town, they all swirled around in my head and gathered speed with each moment I lost in Tommy's sleeping presence.

He began to stir with the slight burying of his face into the feather pillow that had fallen flat over the course of the last few days. His body followed suit, pressing even more into the pillow top mattress, all the while pulling me further down with him. The shifting of his hips made me aware of my palm, probably sweaty and feverish, that rested on his right hipbone. And now that my body had fully woken up, skin sensors were brought back to life, and like a jolt of electricity, I felt every single point where he and I were touching. I felt awkward, being so awake when his body was still unconscious and his skin was still fuzzy and void of electrical charge, and without warning, my mouth slid open and from the center of my belly came a giggle brought on by uncontrollable nerves. I stopped mid-gurgle, busied myself with the task of getting the hair out of my face by rubbing it against my pillow.

I let out a wheeze, blowing my bangs in frustration without thinking, and saw that his eyes squeezed tighter, blocking out the bad breath morning air. After a few moments of complete stillness, his eye farthest from the pillow fluttered open, beaming at me with the same dreamy feeling I had felt just minutes ago. The other eye quickly followed suit, allowing him to adjust to the cloudy light coming in through our curtains.

"I'm sorry." The whisper came out more like a choke and all I could think to do was smile with my lips closed, spread into a silly grin, "I didn't mean to wake you." I could feel my body weakening, my eyes frantically searching his for solace, probing what felt like regret. I forced myself to look at something different as I leaned away to keep the single tear from dropping out of my right eye.

"Don't worry." I wanted to tell him that I did anyway, but I kept quiet. "We have a lot to do today." I sensed his callused fingers near my face, the rough fingertips just barely skimming the surface. He tucked back a few stringy pieces of red hair behind my ear and gave me a clipped smile. I imagined asking him what the matter was, but I couldn't muster up the strength to follow through.

_**Your fingertips across my skin….**_

There was a touch of silver in the silky layering clouds billowed out across the landscape of the beach. I noticed this as I cradled my coffee mug and leaned into the door jamb to watch the sky. It was so much more mesmerizing than my empty ratty suitcase. The clouds crept by quietly, drudgingly. It had a way of slowing my pulse, like the clouds were embracing my stressed body and willing the blood to flow steadier, slower, calmer. My shoulders dropped a little lower, letting arguments and complicated record deals tumble off of my small frame. My fingers felt like they belonged to flowing piano hands as the tips of my toes tapped the concrete to the rhythm of the stormy waves.

I was itching to stick my feet into the foamy edge of the sea. But there was a storm warning, and the storm called for lightning.

I fell further into my sweater, letting the edges ride up the back of my neck, and let my weight shift to the right foot. I took a sip of chilly coffee.

"Jude?"

A seagull swept down to a tide pool and landed on the mound of sand, a miniature island of sorts, something I'd imagine seeing at a mini golf arena. The alien bird stared straight into the ocean, like God was whispering a secret only it could hear.

"Jude?"

I took my last sip of coffee, licked the last drop from the inside of the rim, and sauntered into the tiny living space. I was engulfed in tacky beach furniture, wicker couches, Hawaiian patterns, vertical blinds, "salmon pinks" and "aqua" blues, and I liked how out of place I felt in my chic beige sweater and tattered jeans. I sensed some form of life I hadn't known existed back in Toronto. I sort of felt cheated for not having experienced it before. I even admired the poorly painted beach landscape with a gaudy gold frame hanging crooked on the only available wall.

"Jude!"

"Sorry, Tommy, I've been lost in thought. What's up?"

"My jacket!"

I swallowed the urge to giggle.

"Mhm, your jacket. What about it?"

His usually cool, calm, and collected face stared at me with disbelief. I glanced around to see that the tacky room was disheveled. The pillows were awry, the corner table was crooked, the TV cabinet was partially hanging open, and his forehead showed signs of perspiration.

"Where is it?"

"Why don't you check the car?"

"Oh."

I had the overwhelming sensation to grab his receding figure and pour little kisses all over him for being such an adorable man, but I just couldn't let him be disgruntled over his precious outerwear any longer. Instead, I found myself folding all of the strewn about clothes and tucking them into our shared suitcase. He suggested it during his fit of romanticism that inspired this entire getaway. He was ecstatic, probably more ecstatic than I, and I had been waiting for a chance with Tom Quincy since he gave me the once over in the lobby of G-major.

His footsteps were again present. I smiled. "Did you find it?"

"It was right where you said it would be." I could hear the smile in his voice before I actually turned around. I loved little things like that. I loved _him._

"Of course," my arms slithered around his neck, "you really don't need a leather jacket in beach weather. It's so hot we could walk around nude and probably get away with it."

His lips were softer than usual when I dared to close the gap between us. Kissed by the sun, I supposed. Or just kissed too many times by me. One of the two.

"Nude Jude." He grinned and pulled back to look at me.

"Oh stop it. You know I hate to blush."

I busied myself, packing the last of my t-shirts, and plopped down on the overstuffed suitcase, knees to my chest, chin on my hands. "Zip, please."

His hands were so manly, so cracked with work, and not "work" like slimy business transactions and phone meetings in plush office settings. His fingers were bloody remnants of too many hours playing guitar, his palms showed scars of blisters from chopping firewood with an ax the length of my body. _That_ kind of work.

"Hop up, baby face."

I punched him in the arm, and stumbled my way back to a standing position. His rock hard arms made for a bouncy ball effect.

"You know I was thinking. Maybe when we got back to Toronto, we could-"

NOT go see a movie.

Or hear a band at Jodie's.

Not even have a nice dinner out with him holding my hand.

"It's alright." said the man who could have his pick of women the moment our plane landed, who would be content to keep me his 'little secret.'

But it wasn't alright.

And it wasn't fair.

It was bullshit.

_To be continued…. _


	2. Chapter 1

I know, I know, it's been awhile. BUT in my defense, I've just graduated high school and I've been a little busy. But never fear, I have the entire summer to devote to my writing, so hopefully this rendition of Almost Lover will be finished fairly quickly. Anyway, I seriously hope everyone likes it... I'm trying to take a very realistic approach to the progression of the story, the mindset of the characters and the dialogue. As always, reviews are always appreciated!

xoxo,

Kaitlyn

**Chapter 1**

By now, the chance for an encounter with ideal beach weather was slim to none. It was already noon and the heat wave Mr. Weatherman had promised earlier had long been forgotten. I was tugging at every piece of my sweater to keep the wind from getting to my goosey flesh and gazing with envy at people who huddled in their little beach shacks, far away from the perils nature had bestowed upon Tommy and me. It had been his only bad idea this entire trip, to take "one last walk" before heading home. As I grabbed on tighter to the flapping sweater corner, I noticed Tommy's shoulders hunch further over. Through the corner of my right eye, I could see Tommy's own eyes slide to me for a brief moment. He sighed.

"You want to head back?"

My eyes didn't look up, but continued ahead to find a stray dog prancing down the beach as if the sun really were out, and today was just like any other typical Florida day. His tongue hung to one side, and his eyes had a gleam of relaxation only a dog could sport in such miserable weather. It crossed my mind that this dog was more content with life than me. That its existence was probably better and less complicated than my own.

"Finally."

He didn't acknowledge my reply except to walk a little faster and angle toward the dunes and tall grass further away from the angry waves. We walked a little while, almost in satisfying silence, if not for the pestering noises inside of my head. Screaming and whispering all at once, my thoughts couldn't seem to coexist. I had the urge to cry, to laugh, to skip, to find a lucky shell that would bring Tommy back to the bliss we had before this morning, to yell at the top of my lungs that I missed everything and nothing all at the same time.

Tommy's appearance next to my side started to seem needy and in too close a proximity to my roaring head. I wanted him to turn and walk in the other direction and for not even a moment, I wished him permanently gone. I started fidgeting with every straggling end on my sweater, trying to keep my attention away from his hovering form. He leaned toward me, angled his body so our paths would intercept if I kept straight ahead, and for an absurd second, I was convinced that he _wanted_ to annoy me and that he was trying to invade my closely guarded personal space.

So as soon as our rented abode became more than a speck, I took off. I let my sweater go, let the ties and flowing ends billow behind me like kite tails. I wanted to have just five minutes alone. Just a few minutes to splash some water on my face and gather my thoughts before I broke down right in front of him. I wondered if he ever guessed what happened in my mind. And if he did, I wondered if his guesses were even close to being right.

I slid the door shut behind me and instant silence pounded my ears. Internally, I found my disposition to be sound and quiet, but physically, I was aware of my footsteps, the creaks in the floor, the faucet that would always drip, even after Tommy's attempts to tighten pipes and turn knobs.

I turned both faucets on as far as they would go, hoping for some lukewarm water, but it was ice-cold even after several minutes. I sighed and supposed it was better than the alternative. When the water splashed my face, though, the shock of the freezing temperature threw me off-guard and I was caught in the middle of the cloud of cuss words that had just flown out of my mouth. I took a few deep breaths bent over the draining water, watching as the cold, slick trails danced in circles around the silver-rusted drain before disappearing to somewhere even colder and darker than the faucet spout. I wiped my dripping chin and started for the living room, but a great amount of disliking rose up in my throat like bile. Just a minute ago I had wanted to sit, but now as I scanned the seemingly new wicker, all I could spot were the stray pieces sticking out of the framework, the bent legs of one of the chairs, and the tattered edges of the cushions. It struck me that all I wanted was to mope off to the bedroom. Of course, as soon as I rested my head on the pillow, I was on the move again, landing in the kitchen, right where I had started.

I should have felt gratification for these five minutes alone, but all I could think to do was slump over the drabby countertops and pray that Tommy returned soon. These tug-of-war emotions were draining all of the energy out of my mind. One one hand, I had beaten Tommy back, gotten my peace and quiet. But instead of relief, I was so incredibly frustrated. If I had wanted some alone time so badly, why couldn't I just tell him? Who left someone in the middle of a storm just for some solidarity?

"Jude."

I hadn't even heard him come in.

"I'm sorry. Just a random burst of energy, I guess."

"Jude."

It wasn't even a question. Not even an "is something the matter?" tone. No, it was serious. He knew I was bothered, knew something he had done was the source. His intuition was always dead on. It annoyed me.

"I just needed… I don't know. I guess… I guess I just need to know why."

"Why what?"

I turned around like it pained me to do so. He didn't notice, and when I met his eyes, I couldn't read his expression at all. It was baffling. How could he look at me like that, with blue melting into green eyes and lips that trembled from wanting so desperately to tell?

"You know." He broke the intensity of our locked eyes and moved toward the cupboard reaching for a glass.

After a few moments of disappointing silence and a sudden screeching howl of wind, I noticed that the storm was getting worse. Branches were pulled over bent trunks, looking afraid to leave the only roots they had ever known. I wanted badly to straighten them out, to demand that it stopped raining, to be the savior of the part of nature that couldn't defend itself against freakishly merciless storms. I wanted to be the hero for them that Tommy couldn't seem to be for me.

_**The palm trees swaying in the wind…**_

_**Images…**_

Tommy's clattering around brought my focus back to his glass, now a third full with the last of the whiskey and a few ice cubes. I wanted to grab that glass and throw it against the wall, yell at him for being stupid enough to make a third attempt at drinking and driving. I wanted to warn him in the most seething tone that if he got caught a third time, he'd go to jail. But I didn't. Bad weather seemed to bring the terrible sense of dread and disappointment. Storms bred doubts of security, of the safety nets we had cocooned ourselves into. They threatened our homes, places we had made our refuge. They exposed the certainty of the arms that felt so right around our bodies and rocked the steady boat of happiness and blissful ignorance we had worked so tirelessly to create. And these feelings were enough of an excuse for me to leave him alone.

"We can't stay, baby face. Hate to break it to you, but I'd rather risk the world finding out about us than to face your fans when I tell them I've stolen you and your music away. As much as I want to, I think going public would be less damaging… for the both of us."

His forefinger traced my earlobe, made little swirls down the length of my neck. It was a step above a tickle, and I couldn't get enough of it. I was suddenly melting melting melting. Then gone, gone to a realm where storms and doubts didn't exist. He always had a way of calming my nerves.

But I didn't laugh at his half-hearted attempt to make me crack a smile. "I'm not you're secret Tommy," I shrugged away from his hands. As I looked at him though, I noticed my lips start to tremble for fear of giving in, "You can't hide me away in your underwear drawer and bring me out when it's convenient for you. I need you, even when you don't have time for me. I'll need your fingers around mine even when they should be fiddling with notches on the soundboard. I'll need every part of you committed to this relationship, whether you want to be all the time or not. So I'm telling you, if you can't do that, if you can't be there for me, stand by me, fight through every battle with me, then I don't want it." His eyes were growing darker, rougher, scratchier. I realized that Tommy might start crying at any given moment. And even though my heart was breaking, I couldn't bring myself to cower away from this any longer. "Any of it…"

_I remembered thinking that the booth being soundproof made for a very intimate setting. I told myself that Tommy asking me to talk in such a place meant that I was different, that I was 'the one' he was going to let into his barren heart, start a fire to keep him warm and happy, hang on his arm at bars and industry parties. And the very fact that this room was soundproof comforted me. No one could ever know what Tommy and I had said to one another. They could guess, speculate, spread rumors. We could try as best as we could to paraphrase, share every detail. But we'd forget at least one. And our intonation, inflection points, and pauses between the important phrases could never be exactly replicated. I was the only one who had the ability to remember it perfectly. Besides Tommy. _

_I was excited but nervous as he squeezed our calloused fingers together and led me to Studio A. I was hit with the scent of our spicy Asian chicken still sitting in a carton on the corner of the soundboard. The room smelled suddenly of everything we'd consumed. Coffee. Subs. The fifth of whiskey Tommy and I secretly shared at one of our midnight recording marathons. I realized that every important conversational breakthrough I'd had with him was over a meal. Or a drink at least. And at that moment I desperately wished that Glade had created a "Thai-takeout" plug-in scent. I would have bought enough to put one in every socket around my bedroom for the rest of eternity._

_We finally pulled up stools after two horrible minutes of my nervous psycho-babble. I recalled that I had used many "ums" and had giggled to the point of nauseating tolerance on Tommy's part. Of course, all the while, he didn't meet my gaze but instead looked at me, I mean, really looked at me as if he were seeing my personality for the first time. Of course, he sort of was. He had a luster in his eyes and a lazy smile suggesting that maybe this was the first time he was openly taking me in as a potential partner, as girlfriend material. _

"_Every bit of longing I've ever had for you has been in secret. And Jude, I just can't do it anymore."_

_For the brief time he looked away from me (he had glanced across the room at some commotion going on in the lobby), I thought that maybe I had gotten it all wrong. That maybe he wanted to tell me goodbye. _

"_So I want to sing you something I wrote."_

_He looked back to me and all I could decipher in Tommy's cryptic eyes was that he loved me. The rhymes and riddles of future problems, expectations, and disappointments were all just background details that could be overlooked for the next five minutes. _

_He pulled his own stool closer to me until his foot could rest on the bars of my own seat. He propped up his guitar the way a mother might lift a sleeping toddler out of bed. I loved that he took such care of his instruments. No one but him ever seemed to understand my emotional attachment to them. _

"_Jude, you're my soul inspiration, my everything. And I want to show you what you've done for me."_

_And these were his words. Simple, true, and honest. Just like him. _

_**You sang me Spanish lullabies….**_

` I sank into his arms that had floated around me despite his angry look, and realized that I had been crying.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean all that. I shouldn't have doubted you, I'm just… It's just that I love you so much and-"

His arms disappeared. He shoved his hands into his pockets until he found his vibrating phone. As soon as his eyes fell on the caller I.D. screen, his face froze. His cheek bones were abrupt and sharp, too sharp. His lips had formed a perfectly straight line.

"I have to take this."

He had been moody ever since taking that call. It was nearly noon, the latest possible time we could leave for the airport and have a chance at not missing our flight, and he wouldn't so much as smile at me when I said something. When we had found our way back to the comforts of the cheap beach blanketed bed and made love for what seemed like the thousandth time, it wasn't two seconds into my suggestion that we did it again before his mouth was on mine, smothering any chance for me to say something else. After lunch, as we sat there completely naked snacking on the last of the strawberries, I mustered up the strength to ask him how long he anticipated the storm would last. I got a one word answer.

"Jude, you ready?"

I glanced down to the one and only entirely overstuffed suitcase. "Yep."

He nodded, grabbing the bag and disappeared behind the creaking door. I heard muffled openings and closings. No doubt he was situating everything just right. On the hour long ride from the airport to our beach house rental, the suitcase bobbed, slid, and jiggled around in the trunk, making Tommy go absolutely insane. I had laughed and gotten the silent treatment for it, but before long, he was sighing and grabbing my hand again. I peeped out the window to watch Tommy, who was currently sitting on the hood, head hung down, until he hoisted himself off and disappeared back into the house. I could hear him in the kitchen, fiddling with a beer bottle. I wished he would just tell me who called and put him in such a sour mood.

It was a hard thing to deal with when the person who made me feel the most complete didn't feel exactly the same way. Even if Tommy's distance was temporary, I didn't like it and was confused as to how he went from loving me and being in constant physical contact with me to the exact opposite. As far as I knew, I looked and acted exactly the same yesterday as I did today.

Moments of loneliness, what seemed to be the case for me, had a way of drudging up older, better feelings I had kept so dear. I remembered his song our first night together, his eyes when they were completely connected with mine, every wrinkle in his face when he smiled, the purse of his lips when he disagreed on chord progressions or lyrics. They made up part of why I loved him so much, the reason my mind could handle and cope with the emotional pulls Tommy had over me. These good things, real pieces of Tommy, kept me from giving up.

I was forever wanting more of those amazing links on my charm bracelet, little quirks, actions, memories to keep a smile on my face when Tommy was being difficult. But the only way those sweet savors of our relationship stayed so precious, was if we had equally nasty moments to compare them to. It was impossible to know the goodness of a relationship without experiencing pain and hardship.

I found myself turning abruptly as Tommy's arms seized my waist and spun me around to face him. "You know I love you right? That I wouldn't do anything to hurt you unless I absolutely had to."

I dared to look up, knowing what I'd find in his deep blue orbs. It had been there all day. Regret seemed worse than sadness. At least I could try to make him happy. Regret wasn't something I could replace or change.

"I – I love you, too."

There were always brief encounters with Tommy that made me doubt the foundations of our relationship, if we could even call it that, and this was one of them. But I couldn't make myself turn my back on him. There were girls that would always be out of his reach, girls that would die to get in his pants but couldn't, and then there would be me. The girl who would not only be within his reach until the day she died, but was also dying to get in his pants. Which was why it was so hard to look into a regret ridden face. Why his features of discomfort and pain were almost unbearable.

_**The sweetest sadness in your eyes…**_

"Tommy, do we have to go?" I hoped the words would have come out stronger than they did. I sounded like a little girl asking her mom for just one more bedtime story with sleepy eyes and yawns not two seconds apart. Maybe part of me wanted to get away from Tommy, though I had trouble figuring out which part of me didn't actually want Tommy's kisses.

"Jude, don't start." The hair on his arm bristled at the mentioning of staying. Maybe Tommy needed to get away from me.

"Yes, master Quincy." I rolled my eyes, slapping his hands down from my waist. I slammed the creaking door, and planted myself in the car.

_**Clever trick… **_

The metal conveyer belt was perfectly still. I sighed and dropped my bag that had slipped to the crease of my elbow during the mile trek over to baggage claim. There wasn't any noise indicating that the belt was humming to life, nor were there any groans a machine might make while cranking up. There weren't even that many people waiting for a piece of luggage. All I could think about were my throbbing feet and sweaty shirt. The airplane had been more than just a little toasty. I noticed that the old lady sitting beside me on the plane was nowhere to be found. She was probably struggling to get to baggage claim. We were the last gate on the farthest side of the airport. Wasn't that luck, or what?

"Do you think dead bodies have ever been put through baggage claim?"

I guessed that anyone under five feet tall could easily fit upright on the conveyer belt. No one would even notice.

"I'm sure someone's been tricky enough to fool the machines."

I was surprised to see that Tommy had actually given me more than three words. In fact, I was surprised he had given me an answer at all.

"So all I have to do to get you to talk is say 'dead bodies.' Alright fine. Well, if you don't tell me what's crawled up your ass and died, there'll be two dead bodies stinking up this airport."

I felt bad for saying anything when I looked over to a sniffling toddler and saw that she was pointing at me. The mother, who looked beyond exhausted, had a messy bun threatening to pop the hair tie and an aggravated look that scared almost anything with just one glimpse. She was heavy set, but extremely attractive, though her breasts seemed to grow droopier and droopier as she made her way toward me.

"Miss, would you please watch what you say? I know you're famous and everything, but my little girl's dad just died and now you have her thinking he's going to show up in baggage claim."

Up close I realized her eyes were a deep brown. Her husband must have been a really lucky man. All I saw in those eyes were true love and a steadfast commitment to family and morals.

"I'm so sorry." I fumbled through my satchel, found my journal and my lucky pen, and tore off a corner to an unused page, "Here's my label's number, and my cell. If you ever need anything, please call. Seriously, anything at all. I can also give her an autograph if she's a fan."

I pulled her hand face up and pressed the paper into her palm. Her fingers were raw, and she had almost no nails left. She honestly seemed like the kind of person who would leave a dropped penny if it was heads up just so someone else could snag it for good luck.

"Thanks, but she's a little too young. We're still on Dora the Explorer."

She smiled and walked back to her bleary-eyed daughter. She tucked a curl behind the girl's ear and absently rubbed her thumb on the girl's shoulder. It made me think that being a good mother wasn't a choice for some people. It was a reflex.

It was like watching a movie for the first time, experiencing all the different angles and views the camera had to offer. Watching this mother, really seeing what she did, how much comfort that little girl had, even though she probably wouldn't notice it until it was gone. Everything about a mother, all the important things like rubbing a little girl's back, or cutting triangle sandwiches instead of square ones, went unnoticed, were taken for granted. And mothers did it anyway. They seemed to be the ones who had the most selfless job on the planet.

Tommy's gentle tap on my shoulder brought me out of my thought bubble. I was back in the airport. That mother was just a mother. That toddler was just sleepy and cranky, and I was just Jude with Tommy. But the nagging thoughts leftover still bounced off the walls inside of my head.

"Tommy, is loving me a reflex?"

"What do you mean?"

"Do you choose to love me? Or do you love me because you have no choice?"

There was a strange phenomenon occurring in my body, like every organ, tissue, and bone had started dancing the can-can right underneath my skin. And then I realized that Tommy was kissing me, his hand probably creating knots as he buried his fingertips into my red mass of hair that was already ratty from the plane ride. I giggled, spreading my lips into a huge grin, and in response Tommy pressed further and further, forcing me to lose my balance a little at a time.

"Tommy." I said after I managed to break free of his over zealous tongue, "I think the baggage will be awhile."

He smiled and cleared his throat as his eyes darted around the nearly deserted airport, "Bathroom?"

My heart did summersaults in the cavity of my chest, bumping into my lungs. I was getting short of breath from all the activity going on in my body. Of course, by the time it occurred to me to actually answer him, Tommy was already dragging my weary body into the men's room and straight into the last stall.

"I love you."

I huffed a few times, and blew my loose bangs out of my face.

"I love you, too."

His mouth started in on the hollow of my neck, slowly, but confidently. I sometimes wished that he didn't already know exactly how to lick what parts. Sometimes I think it'd be fun to go back and be able to choose different places, just so he could figure it all out again.

People had it so wrong. Sadie was forever instilling in my brain that sex was better once a person got to know you and your weak spots. She would flip her hair and distantly tell me as she was putting on the last of her mascara that one day I'd understand. But with Tommy, the exploration, the first touches, the awkwardness, it was all so gentle, new, and exhilarating. When we first started having sex, his tongue would embark on new missions every night, until it found a spot so sensitive that I would cry out. And when he was absolutely sure he had found every spot, he abandoned the exploration aspect and went straight to all of my pressure points. I had been relieved at first, that we had touched every part of each other's bodies and found the weak spots, but I missed his awkward questions right in the middle of my big O or how soft and slow his fingertips played with my nipples. It was not to say that he wasn't gentle anymore, because he was, and he paid excellent attention to my needs as much as his, but sometimes I longed for it to be our first night all over again.

My thoughts soon abandoned the sense of longing, though, when his tongue reached the base of my ear. He swirled and we moaned and I reached for anything to keep me from completely falling.

His hands went for the button on my jeans, and as soon as the zipper was undone, he took great care to pull them down just enough to stick his hand into my panties.

How much did I love him right now? How much more of this could I take before clenching up and screaming his name over and over again? I wanted him so badly to stop. No, I wanted him to rub my clit until I could no longer breathe, until every last bit of my orgasm was over.

I started in on his pants, seeing the bulge out of the corner of my eye. I dropped them to the ground and pulled his boxers down just low enough to get to his penis. It was slightly purple with blood rushing to the head. I knew if he entered me, he wouldn't last long.

His fingers slipped out of my underwear, and moved their way up to my chest. He slipped one hand into my bra and cupped my boob, while the other slid my panties to my knees. It wasn't two seconds later and he entered me, thrusting slowly at first, fighting to keep control. His hand was still playing with my left boob while the other kept him propped up on the wall behind me. Our lips had found each other again. His tongue and my tongue were so wrapped around each other, and our moans and slaps and slurps were so loud, they had drowned out the noise of someone walking into the bathroom.

"Hello. I'm here to clean the toilets, so if you aren't usin the bathroom, find another place for your hooligan behavior."

I gasped, pulled back so Tommy's penis slipped out of reach, and started to pull my pants up. I nudged Tommy to do the same, and he sighed, straightening up his boxers around his hips. As soon as both of our buttons were secure, I threw open the stall door and pushed Tommy out.

"We're… um, sorry. Ma'am. Won't happen again."

She rolled her eyes like she had heard that one too many times. "Sure, you kids go on, now. I got stuff to do."

I nodded, squeezed Tommy's fingers, and as if he could read my mind, we were making our way towards the door.

The walk back to baggage claim, though, was surprisingly comfortable. When we had left the bathroom, Tommy had kept hold of my fingers, twined safely in his own, and our hands were gently swaying back and forth. He snuck a look at me every now and then, and since I was openly staring at him with a loopy grin, he caught my line of sight every time.

I heard the moaning sound of the conveyer belt before I actually saw it, and was relieved to find our bag looking rejected as it sat motionless save for the moving belt. Ours was the only one left. I looked around to see the space completely empty.

"Well, babyface, we still have two hours before Sadie gets here. Any ideas that are PG rated?"

I giggled, ran up to the conveyer belt, and with all of my strength lifted our suitcase off of the belt and dropped it on the floor. It landed catawampus on its side. I huffed once and pushed it right-side up, letting Tommy carry it over to one of the many empty benches lining the airport's walls. As soon as his butt hit the bench, I plopped down beside him, nestling my head in the crook of his arm.

"So I guess your PG idea is sleep?"

"Mmmmm..."

He laughed, sighed with fulfillment, and absently rubbed my arm with his thumb. It occurred to me that Tommy was back, and that he wouldn't be going anywhere for a very long time.


End file.
